


all this war just to win

by lehtonen



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8341837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehtonen/pseuds/lehtonen
Summary: “You want me to shut up?” Dex takes a step back, triumphant, his eyes flashing. “Make me.”Or: Dex and Nursey hook up, but they're still a mess.





	

They’re well into their second year of playing together, long accustomed to the peculiar more-off-than-on acrimony of their relationship, when Nursey blows it all to hell after a Haus party. 

He’s drunk, is the thing, and they’ve all come from a real bitch of a game they ended up dropping 2-1 - late enough in the season that they can scarcely afford the loss - so instead of mellowing him out the beer’s got him tense, wired and restless where normally he’d be calming down by now and kicking Chowder’s ass at Mario Kart. 

Midnight comes and goes and he’s still vibrating with repressed energy, so he thinks _fuck it_ , downs the rest of his beer, and heads out back to the apartment off-campus he shares with Dex. The air outside is bracingly cold; he zips his hoodie all the way up and quickens his pace, letting the breeze soothe his frayed nerves and burn away the tension radiating through his bones.

It almost works, too, but then he lets himself in, and comes, abruptly, face to face with Dex, sprawled out across the couch. Nursey remembers, all of a sudden, the reproachful look Dex had shot him when he’d turned over the puck in the crease, costing them a goal, the way Dex had shouldered roughly past him on the way into the locker room after the game, and just like that his hackles are up. 

He makes the executive decision to go straight to bed. Wordlessly, he stalks across the room, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it down onto the table by the front door, and he’s nearly made it to the safety of his bedroom when Dex pipes up, sounding frustrated. “We have a coat rack for that exact purpose, you know.”

Nursey stops in his tracks, but doesn’t turn, his voice flat as he addresses the blank wall in front of him. “I don’t give a fuck, Poindexter.”

“Typical,” Dex huffs, almost under his breath but not quite. Nursey can see him shifting around on the couch out of the corner of his eye, probably searching for the _most judgmental way to sit_ or something stupid like that, and he knows he shouldn’t engage when he’s already in a bad mood, knows he should just let it go and sleep it off, but he’s spinning around before his brain has the chance to communicate this to the rest of his body. “Yeah? What’s typical?”

Dex is sitting up straight, now, his shoulders slightly hunched as he scowls across the room at Nursey. “Well, maybe you’d be better on the ice if you weren’t so careless all the time, I’m just saying.”

And - _ouch_. 

“Oh yeah?” Nursey all but snarls back, his fingers clenching into fists. “Sorry but can you remind me which one of us spent _six minutes_ in the penalty box today? What, were you gunning for the record?”

Dex rockets up off of the couch, nearly upending the coffee table with his knee, and stalks over to where Nursey’s standing, as though rooted in place, at the threshold of his bedroom. “Maybe if you did your job, I wouldn’t have to do it for the both of us, you think of that? Huh?” He points an accusing finger at Nursey, stopping just short of jabbing him in the sternum with it, which is probably for the best, Nursey thinks savagely, seeing as you really need both of your hands to function if you want a career in pro hockey.

Very deliberately, Nursey squares his shoulders, refusing to back down, and fixes Dex in place with the steady, unbothered gaze he knows Dex finds so maddeningly infuriating. “Whatever, man,” he drawls. “Like I give a fuck what you think.” 

“Well you should,” says Dex, viciously condescending, his tone dismissive. “Unless you want to keep letting the whole team down, in which case, do whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

Nursey doesn’t mean to react, but it stings and it’s _unfair_ , and he’s snapping “Hey, would you shut the _fuck_ up?” before he’s even fully conscious of it.

“You want me to shut up?” Dex takes a step back, triumphant, his eyes flashing. “Make me _._ ” 

And Nursey knows what he means, okay, he knows Dex wants him to prove him wrong on the ice, not here, right now - but there’s just something about the words themselves, landing heavy in the air between them, something about the dare in Dex’s face and in his posture, and Nursey is suddenly very aware that they’re alone in the apartment, now long past midnight, and the only noise other than the ticking of the wall clock is the sound of their breathing, elevated and loud in the silence. 

The double entendre in Dex’s words seems to dawn on him, then, and he stills, frozen like a wild animal caught in the headlights of a truck. It’s noticeable, Nursey thinks fuzzily, when Dex goes still, just because it almost never happens; he’s constantly in motion, a tightly wound mechanism of tension and nervous energy, and there’s something strangely captivating about seeing him like this, cautious and wary and flushing bright crimson in the middle of their living room. 

The silence between them stretches out for a long, interminable heartbeat, _too_ long, and then Nursey’s moving, fast as a snake in the grass, fast as a top scorer with the puck when there’s a defenceman hot on his heels, slamming Dex back against the wall and feeling, intimately, his surprised exhale as all the air is pushed from his lungs, moments before Nursey smashes their lips together in a bruising kiss that hurts far more than it soothes. 

Even as he bites at Dex’s mouth, flicks his tongue against his lower lip, he’s expecting Dex to push him away, half-braced for the punch he’s sure is going to come, but seconds pass and it doesn’t and that’s a miracle in itself, so Nursey pulls back a little, takes in the dazed expression on Dex’s face, and says, more than a little self-satisfied, “Yeah, I’ll shut you the fuck up, motherfucker.” 

That snaps Dex out of his reverie, and he straightens up against the wall, annoyance flashing across his features. He still looks shaken though, face red and mouth even redder, his lips slightly swollen and inviting, and Nursey just - he can’t resist, suddenly, leaning back in and kissing him again. This time, Dex’s mouth opens easy beneath his own, his broad hips angling forwards into Nursey’s touch, and he moans, sending a hot pulse of arousal straight down to Nursey’s cock. He’s hard too, Nursey realises with a thrill, and -

“Fuck!” Dex does shove him away, this time. There’s a furious blush on his face, but Nursey can’t tell if it’s anger or embarrassment, and either way he’s a mess, visibly aroused and panting heavily. They stare at each other a moment longer, the tension between them palpable and cloying, and then Dex pushes away from the wall and walks into his bedroom, slamming the door decisively shut behind him.

***

Maybe it would’ve ended there, thinks Nursey, if it had, you know, _ended_ , instead of trailing off unsatisfyingly, leaving him with a boner that just wouldn’t quit until he finally gave in and got himself off - guiltily remembering the weight of Dex’s body in between him and the wall - safe in the privacy of his own bedroom. 

Dex avoids him like the plague for the next few days, unsurprisingly, and Nursey lets him, doing his best to project a supercilious aura of cool detachment whenever they’re in the same room. It doesn’t take long at all before this pisses Dex off enough that he loses his temper and then they’re right back to normal, bickering at every opportunity, which should be comforting, except -

Except. Nursey appears to have developed some kind of deeply inconvenient Pavlovian _thing_ for Dex when he’s mad. He’ll be sitting there, serene, half-listening to Dex rail about something dumb Nursey’s allegedly responsible for, and then he’ll look up, register the flush staining Dex’s cheeks and the tips of his ears, notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and just like that his higher brain functions all say _see you; bye_ and check out of the building, leaving him with just the sense memory of Dex’s hips beneath his hands, pressed firmly up against his own.

It’s a struggle, then, to keep his face blank. He begins to find himself actively trying to mollify Dex more often than he’s truly comfortable with, because at least the smug, self-satisfied Dex is easier to deal with than the blithely oblivious Dex who keeps accidentally making his dick hard.

They’re in a precarious situation, and Nursey knows it; he also knows, however, that it's one hundred percent his fault, which leaves him at a total loss when it comes to fixing it.

***

They win their next game in overtime, a roadie against Yale, and Dex gets the game-winner. Nursey reaches him first in the crush and throws his arms around him, whooping loudly into his ear as they crash into the boards. Dex looks a little surprised, when they disengage, but he’s grinning ear-to-ear and his freckles are standing out stark against the pink tinge dusting his cheekbones. 

After, in the locker room, Nursey congratulates him for real, ruffling Dex’s sweat-dampened hair and smirking at the indignant expression on his face. “Good job, Poindexter.”

Dex’s hair is still sticking up stupidly, but he beams with pride. Which is, Nursey can admit, well-deserved; Dex is on a truly insane five-game point streak with two goals and four assists, not bad for any player but especially decent for a defenceman, and whatever the state of his feelings on Dex, Nursey’s man enough to recognise good game when he sees it. 

“Thanks.” Dex’s reply is quietly sincere, and for a second everything between them is just - just friendly, like it’s supposed to be, probably, and then Ransom and Holster descend on Dex in a flurry of bro-hugs and shoulder-clapping and Nursey steps back, pulling off the last of his gear and heading for the shower.

At the Haus, later, Dex sidles up to Nursey, looking abashed. “Hey,” he mutters, reaching out to tug lightly at Nursey’s sleeve, and Nursey realises, with a small jolt of private amusement, that Dex is already more than a little trashed. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” says Nursey warily, letting Dex manoeuvre him around a corner until they’re standing alone in the hall.

“I just.” Dex exhales loudly, looking steadfastly at Nursey’s left shoulder instead of meeting his eye. “I wanted to apologise for what I said the other day, you know, that you aren’t a good hockey player.” He shuffles in place like a guilty child, shifting his weight from foot to foot until Nursey places a steadying hand against his upper arm. “It was really shitty of me, I was just mad, you know.”

“Yeah, man, I know.” Nursey forcibly swallows down his own doubts; he’s in a slump, and he knows it, but even knowing it’s natural doesn’t make it feel any better. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. Cool.” Dex breathes out a relieved sigh, then slumps back against the wall. “Fuck, I feel like shit.”

Nursey grins. “Bitty?”

“Yeah. Jeez, what the fuck does he put in those -”

“Four Loko, rum and lemonade, dude,” Nursey says sympathetically, having been on the receiving end of one of Bitty’s signature cocktails more than once in the past. He pats Dex’s shoulder cheerily. “They’re like those poison frogs, you know? The brighter they are the worse you’re gonna feel in the morning.” 

Dex looks a little green. “Noted.”

“You wanna head home? I can walk back with you, if you like.”

“No, that’s okay,” Dex mumbles, suddenly evasive, righting himself with considerable effort and pushing away from the wall. “Chowder says I can crash here tonight.”

“Um, okay.” Nursey chews his lip, suddenly hesitant. He knows he shouldn’t bring it up; suspects he shouldn’t even mention it at all, not least when Dex is pretty thoroughly impaired, but the moment’s there, and the words are tripping stiltedly out of his mouth before he can think better of it. “Hey, uh. Are we cool? Because we didn’t really talk, you know. About what happened the other night.”

“Oh. That.” Dex looks tired all of a sudden, his expression smoothing over into a strange, uncharacteristic blankness. “Yeah, see, I’m - I’m not gay, dude.”

“Oh,” Nursey echoes dumbly. “Right.”

“So, um. I’m gonna go.” Dex takes a step backwards, then another. “Goodnight,” he says, then disappears hastily around the corner with more finesse than should really be expected from a drunk 6’2”, 200lb college athlete. 

“Goodnight,” says Nursey, to the empty hall.

That’s that, then. 

***

Except, no, fuck that, because he hadn’t _made up_ Dex’s reaction, hadn’t imagined the sensation of Dex’s hard-on pressing into his hip from nothing more extraordinary than a two-minute kiss. 

Nursey broods on it for a while, alone in the apartment, punching his pillow until it cooperates with his restless fidgeting. Dex had been _into it_ , he’s sure of it, until he’d pushed him away - but he had pushed him away, and now he clearly wanted to just forget the whole thing, and Nursey may be an asshole on occasion but never to the extent that he’d knowingly disrespect someone’s boundaries. 

Still, it sucks, because the encounter may have been all-too-brief and a mistake to boot but that doesn’t mean he can get it out of his head. Even now, he’s half-hard in his pajama pants, and he slides his hand underneath the waistband and squeezes the base of his dick, self-recriminatory. 

He seriously needs to get laid, is the conclusion he arrives at, flopping over tiredly onto his back. He has a list of numbers on his phone, past hookups who’d probably be willing to go again if he asked, and he runs through their names in his mind, letting the idea soothe him into sleep.

***

He’s cheerful the next day; already, mentally, bouncing back from _whatever_ the thing with Dex was. When Dex finally traipses in, just past midday, hungover and unwashed, Nursey doesn’t even chirp him, just smiles benevolently as Dex collapses face-down onto the couch. 

“Why are you so happy?” Dex gripes eventually, squinting one eye open to peer up at Nursey, before seeming to think better of it. “Actually, no, never mind, I don’t want to know. Just,” and he waves a hand half-assedly in Nursey’s direction, “go be happy somewhere else, please.”

Nursey does, gliding off into the kitchen without even complaining that this is the common area of the apartment and he can be happy in here if he goddamn well wants to, because he’s getting lucky tonight, and everything is right in the world again.

In the kitchen, he leans over the counter and scrolls through his contact list. He strikes out a couple of times before he hits dirt, in the form of an English major named Anna he’d hooked up with after last year’s Halloween party; she’s legal to drink but he isn’t, yet, so they agree instead to meet for coffee and walk together back to hers. 

Plans solidified, he straightens up, thinking maybe he’ll put a dent in the housework him and Dex have been procrastinating over for the last week. He does the dishes, mind elsewhere, then wanders off to look for clean bedding; Dex, sacked out on the couch, doesn’t even stir, and Nursey does his best to ignore the soft, fond lurch in the pit of his stomach as he passes.

***

“So, would you like something to drink? I’ve got, um..” Anna breaks off, bending over slightly to rifle through the fridge. “Beer, vodka, tequila, gin…”

Nursey grins. He knew he liked her for a reason. “Surprise me.”

“Ha, okay.” She straightens up, two bottles tucked under her arm, and gives him a wry smile. “Beer’s probably safest for now.”

“Good call.” Nursey catches the bottle she throws at him, pops the cap with the opener he keeps on his keyring, then leans back on the couch and takes a swig, letting his eyes drift over Anna as she moves closer. She’s plump, enticingly curvy, with dark hair and big blue eyes, and she raises an arch eyebrow at Nursey when she catches him looking. Nursey smiles back, slow and appreciative, and tilts the neck of his bottle towards her in a lazy salute. 

“I’ve got weed, too,” she says, sitting down beside him on the couch and folding her legs neatly underneath her. “If you want.”

Nursey hesitates for a moment, torn. He shouldn’t, he knows, not in the middle of the season - but they aren’t playing again for another four days, and there’s no practise tomorrow, and _god_ , he’d kill for a smoke, so after a second he nods and says, “Sure, why not.”

“Cool.” She shifts in place, producing an expertly rolled joint from her back pocket, and holds it out to him between her index and middle finger. “Got a light?”

“Yeah, hold up.” Nursey rummages around in his own pockets until he locates his lighter, leaning into her space and holding himself carefully still as he presses down and waits for the flame to catch. They’re breathing the same air; it’s intimate, for a moment, and Nursey lets his gaze drop down to Anna’s lips, pursed slightly around the base of the roll-up. He feels his dick stir in his pants, already interested.

The flame catches; Anna sits back, inhaling deeply. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” His voice is low, gravelly, and Anna looks up at him, her gaze evaluating and her expression inscrutable. After a second, she takes another drag and says, “Come here,” holding the smoke in her lungs as she beckons him towards her. 

He goes, eagerly, letting her curl her fingers into his hair and draw him nearer, tilting his face up when she presses her lips to his and gently blows the smoke into his mouth. He’s fully hard now, and he bites back a relieved groan when she reaches down without preamble and presses the heel of her hand against his erection. His eyes are closed, but he feels her smirk against his own mouth, and then she pulls back. “Hey, drink up.”

“Okay,” Nursey says, horny and agreeable. He downs nearly half his beer in one long swallow, then reaches out, effortlessly casual, and plucks the joint from her hand. It’s been a while since he last got high, and he can feel it hitting him already, smoothing out the jagged edges of his thoughts and lifting some of the heavy weight from his shoulders. 

For a while, they just drink and smoke, talking about nothing in particular and enjoying the easy tension building, slow and unacknowledged, between them. It’s simple, uncomplicated, and Nursey lets himself feel the low pulse of arousal throbbing low in his groin, content in the knowledge that it’ll be taken care of before too long. 

Eventually, Anna leans forward to stub the joint out in an ashtray on the coffee table, then stands, stretching languorously before stepping closer and lowering herself to straddle his lap. Nursey’s hands automatically go to her hips, soft and yielding beneath his fingertips, and she smiles mischievously down at him, her fingers going to the hem of his shirt and slipping, tantalisingly, underneath. “So, are you going to take me to bed?”

He does.

***

The sex is good. Great, even - she’s hot, composed and confident, and she isn’t afraid to show him what she likes; Nursey’s always been into that. 

He leaves, after, although it’s getting pretty late. He knows he’d have been welcome to stay over, but once the post-coital endorphins have faded he’s restless again, so he kisses Anna goodbye at the door and heads off down the street. 

He’s glad he went - it scratched an itch, at the very least, but he doesn’t know if it’s actually solved his problem. By the time he gets home, Dex has gone to bed, and he’s glad about that, too. Nursey sits down on the couch, in the space Dex had made earlier, and rubs tiredly at his face. His stubble is beginning to irritate him; he needs to shave. 

He sighs, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and tugging it up to his shoulders. He’s confused, still, and he doesn’t know what to do with the mess of tangled emotion surging up in his belly, and it’s frustrating. He shoots a glance at Dex’s bedroom door, closed tight in the semi-darkness, and tries his best to suppress the sudden bitter ache of loneliness.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep there, but he must, because the next thing he’s aware of is the glare of sunlight pouring through the window and Dex leaning over him, brow furrowed disapprovingly.

“Jesus,” Nursey mumbles, rolling over and burying his head in the couch cushions, “that’s unsettling.” 

“ _You’re_ unsettling,” Dex retorts, straightening up. He sniffs. “Late night?”

“Not especially,” says Nursey, resolutely refusing to open his eyes. “I was just tired, y’know. Fell asleep here by accident.”

“Well, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Nursey gives up on sleep and pushes himself up on his elbows, tries to work out the painful crick in his neck by pressing his head down against the arm of the couch and rolling it back and forth on his shoulders.

“And you smell like - fuck, is that weed?” Dex shakes his head disbelievingly. “You’re a dumbass.”

“Fuck off, okay,” Nursey mutters. Dex is right, is the thing, it _was_ stupid, but Nursey’s feeling defensive now and he’ll be damned if he admits it. 

Dex, predictably, ignores him. “You know you could get kicked off the team for that, right?”

“I said, fuck off. Leave me alone.”

“You are such a goddamn idiot.” Dex exhales heavily, sitting primly down in one of the armchairs. “Jesus _Christ_.”

“It was, like, half a joint, okay? Chill out.”

“Whatever, man, you wanna make dumb decisions, that’s up to you.” 

“Damn right it is.” Nursey sits up, slumping heavily against the back of the couch. Dex’s eyes widen. “Is that a hickey?”

“Probably.” Nursey can’t be bothered to lie about it, and besides, it’s not like he _can’t_ go out and hook up with whoever he wants. 

Dex’s expression changes, his face unreadable. “Wow. Nice company you’re keeping.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nursey raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Is having fun banned now, too?”

Dex doesn’t reply, eyebrows set into a fierce line, and Nursey can’t stop himself from baiting him, winding him up further. “Unless you’re jealous because I’ve got game and you haven’t -” 

“Fuck off,” Dex cuts him short, disproportionately angry all of a sudden. “I’m not jealous.”

“Well, you’re sure acting like it.” 

“Shut up.” Dex stands, suddenly, pacing towards the kitchen, and Nursey sits up, interest renewed, because Dex’s voice was a little unsteady and now that Nursey’s looking he can see the slight shake in the set of his shoulders, a nervous, panicked tension he wasn’t expecting to elicit. Surprised, he opens his mouth, pauses, then says, “Relax, man. I was joking.” 

“I don’t give a fuck, you just -” Dex breaks off, not turning around. His hands are balled into fists at his side. “Don’t say that shit to me.”

“Um. Okay.” Nursey runs a hand through his tangled curls, nonplussed, then hazards a “Sorry?”

“Whatever.” Dex’s response is quiet, scarcely more than a mumble, and he disappears into the kitchen. Nursey sits still for a minute longer, contemplative.

***

Eventually, he showers, then goes to sit in his room with a towel slung over his shoulders, figuring he may as well take advantage of the free day to start work on one of the many assignments he’s got due in the next few weeks. He tries, largely unsuccessfully, to push Dex out of his mind; he may have peeled the Republican sticker off of his laptop, quiet and without fanfare, months before, and he’s never - openly, at least - had an issue with Nursey’s bisexuality, but Nursey knows full well it’s different when it’s _personal_ , and he doesn’t want any part in whatever gay panic Dex has got going on beyond the part he’s already had in inflicting it.

He writes out a sentence, deletes it, then types it out again, almost word for word the same, frowning down at his keyboard. He can’t concentrate, and he’s almost grateful when Dex shoulders his door open and stomps into his bedroom with all the elegance and grace of a rampaging elephant. 

Still, he’s got standards to live up to, so he raises his eyebrows and says, coolly, “Don’t you ever knock? I could’ve been doing anything in here,” with enough emphasis on _anything_ that Dex goes gratifyingly pink. 

It doesn’t deter him for long, though, because he leans up against the doorframe, swallows audibly, and mutters, “You were right,” his tone wooden. “I was - am - jealous.”

And, okay, Nursey hadn’t been expecting that. He stills in his chair, then spins around. “Um,” he says. “What?”

Dex thumps his head back against the doorframe, looking miserable, and Nursey’s definitely a bad person because he can’t stop his eyes from following the blush on his face all the way down the long line of his neck. “I’m _jealous_ , okay? That you…” He gestures wordlessly, then lets his hands fall back down. “I don’t really know what else you want me to say.” 

“Jealous of what? That I hooked up? Or -” Nursey hesitates, aware that he’s treading on eggshells. “Is this about the other thing?”

Dex mutters, “The other thing,” so quiet it’s nearly lost in the air between them. 

Nursey pushes away from the table and gets up slowly, his mind whirring. “But - Dex - you’re not into guys. You said so.”

“Oh, because I’m the first person who’s ever lied about that,” Dex snaps, waspish. “Besides, I - I wasn’t sure, you know. Until…” He trails off, biting his lip evasively.

“Until?” Nursey prompts, his eyebrows still arched curiously.

Dex sighs, unhappy. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Okay,” Nursey says, stepping closer. He places his hand on Dex’s shoulder, cautiously, pressing into the tense muscle with his thumb, feeling it barely give at all. “Hey, I mean it, it’s, um. It’s really okay.” 

“It’s not, though, is it?” says Dex, frowning deeply. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well.” Nursey hesitates. “It’s up to you, bro. You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Dex confesses, his mouth downturned slightly in the corners. “I don’t - I don’t _know_ , Nursey.”

“That’s okay too,” Nursey says with a small smile, and he’s feeling - well, all kinds of things, really, swirling tumultuously in the pit of his stomach, but he steps back, gives Dex some space. 

“What about you?” asks Dex, looking up at Nursey from below his eyelashes.

“What _about_ me?” says Nursey, thrown.

Dex shrugs half-heartedly. “Well, _you_ kissed me. I dunno. What do you want?”

Nursey takes a breath, caught out. He doesn’t know what to say, really; he thinks about it for a second, then goes with the purest form of the truth. “I don’t really know either.”

Dex nods, staring down at his own shoes. He looks disappointed, and Nursey doesn’t mean to say it but there’s silence, now, creating space between them, so he bites the bullet and blurts out, “I’m attracted to you.” 

Dex’s gaze snaps back up. Nursey tries his best not to look away, to remain steady beneath Dex’s careful scrutiny. Eventually, Dex swallows, and says, “What - what do you mean?” 

Nursey exhales, wry, his heart pounding hard in his chest. “Pretty much what I said, man.”

“Yeah, but like, how?” Dex’s eyes are bright, staring at him keenly, and Nursey’s transfixed, pinned to the spot. “Like,” and he takes a deep breath, “you wanna fuck me?”

_Jesus_. It takes a second for Nursey’s brain to reboot, hearing those words drop so casually from Dex’s lips, and then he gets with the program, stepping forward and reaching up to cup Dex’s strong jaw in the palm of his hand. “Like I want to…” 

He trails off, then, because Dex isn’t moving away, and his mouth is just slightly open only millimetres away from his own, and what’s the point of talking when they could be kissing instead? He backs Dex up against the door, which clicks shut beneath their combined weight, and covers Dex’s mouth with his own, taking his time figuring exactly how to make Dex fall apart until he’s gasping and clutching weakly at the collar of Nursey’s shirt. 

Accidentally, Dex’s thumb brushes against the hickey Anna left, and Nursey hisses a ragged breath through his teeth; taking notice, Dex narrows his eyes, and presses in deliberately, his gaze turning hot and electric when Nursey squirms into his touch. “I still can’t believe you did that,” he says, his voice low and discontent.

“Well, you _weren’t gay_ , remember,” replies Nursey, letting affection soften his tone when he says, lightly mocking, “Someone had to take care of all this,” gesturing at himself. 

Dex shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. “You’re such a tool.” 

Nursey shrugs, not disagreeing, then leans forward, bowing his head slightly and nipping sharply at the tantalising area an inch or so below Dex’s jawline. It makes Dex whimper, the sound high and thin in his throat, and Nursey decides that that’s quite enough talking for now, stepping back and pulling Dex with him until he can tug him down onto his bed. 

Dex’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his eyelashes brushing softly against his freckled cheekbones, and his dick is pressing insistently into Nursey’s thigh, but Nursey pulls back for a second anyway, holding himself carefully above Dex as he asks, “Is this okay?”

“Um. Yes?” Dex says, looking up at Nursey like he thinks he’s gone insane, and Nursey would be insulted but a yes is a yes and he’s got more pressing matters at hand right now. He grins back, shifting his weight until the bulk of it is on Dex, enjoying Dex’s surprised exhale and the feel of his body, hard and solid everywhere beneath Nursey’s own. 

They settle into a rhythm, Dex’s thighs falling open then tightening around Nursey’s hips as Nursey grinds relentlessly down. It’s fast and rough and over quickly, Dex’s hand sliding up Nursey’s back beneath his worn t-shirt and pressing deep imprints into his skin, Nursey sucking bruises in a line down Dex’s neck; afterwards, Nursey would be embarrassed about coming in his jeans like he’s still in high school, if Dex hadn’t, also. 

“Ugh,” Dex groans, collapsing back against the pillows and looking distastefully down at himself. “I’m gross.”

He’s rumpled and sweaty, his face flushed and his hair dishevelled; privately, Nursey thinks he’s _crazy_ hot, but he settles for punching the centre of Dex’s chest lightly and saying, “Yeah, you are.” 

“Fuck you too, asshole.” Dex runs the back of his hand across his forehead, still breathing heavily, then lapses into silence. 

They lie together for a minute, letting the sweat cool and their breathing return to normal, and then Dex turns on his side, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at Nursey. “Hey, um,” he begins, his voice quiet. “Do we… do this, now? What does this mean for us?”

Nursey shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“It was good, right?” Dex sounds genuinely uncertain, and Nursey flicks a glance across at him, surprised. “Fuck, _yes_ , it was good, you moron. Don’t remember the last time I came that hard.”

“Oh.” Dex pauses, mulling this over. “Good.”

“The thing is, though…” Nursey turns over too, reaching across the space in between them and letting his hand rest, palm-down, on Dex’s hip. “We argue, like, a lot.”

“I know.” Morose.

“And I just…” Nursey hesitates, not wanting to fuck up this new, fragile thing between them. “I don’t want us to start something, and ruin it because we’re _us_ , so bad that we can’t even be friends. You know?”

“Yeah.” Dex sighs, then interlaces their fingers together, tapping a soft rhythm against Nursey’s wrist bone with his thumb. “I get it.” 

“Plus, like, this is new for you, man. Maybe you should spend some time figuring it all out.” 

“Probably,” Dex agrees, listless.

Nursey feels strangely hollow, feels weak and cowardly dismantling their relationship into a handful of pessimistic - albeit true - statements, so he swallows, musters all his courage, and says, “We can leave this on the table, though, yeah?”

“You -” Dex breaks off, biting his lip. “You’d want to do this again? Maybe?”

“Like I said,” Nursey shoots him a quick, sly smile. “It was hot.”

***

They do hook up, under the new terms of their relationship, but they don’t talk about it. 

It happens late at night, mostly; Nursey will lean over and kiss Dex’s neck when they’re sitting next to each other on the couch, or Dex will let himself into Nursey’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning, waking him up with cold hands sliding up the front of his shirt. Nursey blows Dex for the first time up against the kitchen counter, leaning on the tile and methodically taking Dex to pieces, staring directly up into his wide eyes when Dex comes down his throat. 

On the ice, they’re playing better than ever before, the rapport between them sizzling electrical. Their next game is against Dartmouth, and Samwell registers its first shutout of the season, the score 3-0 at the final buzzer. Nursey’s game, too, is picking up, his slump decidedly over when he fires the puck between two forwards at a highly improbable angle, sending it directly to Bitty, who scores.

At home, afterwards, Dex is all over him, breathing “Fuck, Nursey, that was so hot, fuck,” into his neck as he frantically tugs open the front of Nursey’s jeans. 

They don’t talk about it.

***

It’s fine, for a while. They even argue less, and when they do argue, it’s not as awful, somehow, easier to stop things from escalating by deviating them to the bedroom. Or the couch, or the wall, or the floor; whichever surface is nearest, really.

Still, there’s a disconnect between them somewhere, a new detachment that was never there before, and it leaves Nursey feeling discomfited. He’s pretty sure Dex feels it too; he’s open, responsive and vulnerable between the sheets, but outside of them, he’s guarded - at least he is until he turns to Nursey, a couple of weeks in, and says, completely guileless, “I want you to fuck me.”

Nursey stares at him, astounded, for a long minute, until Dex begins to squirm beneath his gaze and breathlessly adds, “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Um,” replies Nursey, intelligently. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“ _Just_ pretty sure, or, like, definitely sure -”

“Definitely sure, fuck’s sake, Nursey,” Dex snaps, suddenly impatient. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“Hey, man, it’s always good to check,” says Nursey, raising his hands in surrender. He pauses for a second, heat pooling low in his stomach at the embarrassment and the want battling for control over Dex’s expression. Still, he can’t stop himself from tacking on, “It’s not every day someone as notable as William J. Poindexter of the Massachusetts Poindexters asks you to fuck him in the ass,” then doubles over, clutching at his abdomen where Dex has just punched him solidly in the stomach, wheezing, “ _Oh, fuck_ , that hurt.”

“Yeah, well,” says Dex, his face a brilliant red. “You deserved it.”

“I totally did,” Nursey says cheerfully, still rubbing at the sore spot on his belly, wondering idly if it’ll bruise. 

“So - is that a yes, then?”

“Of course it’s a yes,” Nursey says, shaking his head fondly at Dex, like the answer could ever have been anything else. 

They don’t get around to it immediately, though, deciding by unspoken consensus that it isn’t quite the right time, yet. That doesn’t come until a couple of days later, when Dex pushes Nursey up from where he’d been leaving a truly impressive hickey on the pale skin above his hipbone, and says, shakily, “Now, Nursey, I want it now, please,” his fingers clutching desperately at Nursey’s bare shoulder. 

“Okay, okay,” says Nursey, wrapping his fingers around Dex’s wrists, holding him still, placating. The way Dex is looking at him - like he needs it, like he’s unravelling more and more with every second that passes without Nursey inside him - it hits Nursey like a gut punch, and he takes a deep, steadying breath as he pushes himself up. 

“You’ve done this before, yeah?” Dex’s voice is shaky, like he’s looking for reassurance, his hands fidgeting within Nursey’s firm grip. “With a…?”

“Yes,” says Nursey, and Dex breathes out slowly and nods, a short, abrupt gesture, his eyes sliding shut. It’s strange, thinks Nursey, because Dex isn’t - hasn’t ever been - fragile; the two of them are the same height, near enough the same weight, but at the moment, his body stretched out beneath Nursey’s own, Dex seems breakable, somehow, and the responsibility for him weighs heavily on Nursey’s shoulders. 

He reaches for the lube on top of his nightstand and Dex follows the motion with his eyes, startling slightly when Nursey drops the tube indelicately onto his chest. His eyes are dark in the early evening shadows, deep like unpolished amber, his dick rock solid between them, and Nursey can’t help himself; he leans down, sliding his fingers around the nape of Dex’s neck and into his hair, kissing him soft and deep until Dex is sighing into his mouth. Then, he draws back, trailing his fingertips down the length of Dex’s erection, relishing the way Dex’s entire body writhes at the gentle touch, and flicks the lube open carelessly with his other hand. 

Dex stiffens at the sound, his thighs like steel framing Nursey’s own. “Relax, I’ve got you,” Nursey murmurs, upending the lube and liberally coating his fingers, Dex, and probably the bedspread too for good measure. 

“It’s cold,” Dex complains, his stomach muscles tensing. 

“Yeah, well,” says Nursey, waggling his eyebrows with a smirk. “I’ll warm you up, baby.”

“Ugh, fuck off, I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.” 

“Whatever, you’ll be begging for it before I’m done,” says Nursey, only half-joking, and Dex shudders. His voice is rough when he speaks again, desire fracturing his consonants; “Fuck, Nursey, can you - _just_ \- get on with it, _please_.”

“Okay,” says Nursey, softly. “Just - tell me if it hurts.” He backs away, slightly, sitting up on his heels, sliding his big hands up Dex’s thighs and pushing them further apart, leaving a trail of lube glistening on Dex’s pale skin. He slides one finger in, slow, just the knuckle at first, Dex’s ragged intake of breath the only sound in the room, then, when Dex doesn’t complain, pushes it all the way in, until Dex is clenching tight around it, his hips angling almost involuntarily upwards into the sensation. 

“Good?” Nursey asks, careful not to move, and Dex makes a small, broken noise. “Don’t stop,” he forces out, his face as red as his hair. “Please, Nursey, don’t stop,” and Nursey’s so hard in his sweatpants he’d swear he can feel his heartbeat in his dick. He lets Dex adjust, then adds another finger, crooking them slightly until Dex’s moans increase in both pitch and volume. 

Eventually, Dex reaches up, his fingers tightening around Nursey’s elbow, and says, his voice shaky but the words themselves nonetheless resolute, “I’m ready, do it.”

Nursey doesn’t bother asking him again if he’s sure; there’s a fanatic gleam in Dex’s eyes that he recognises from the ice, when they’re down a goal going into the third and Dex is determined to make miracles happen, and besides, if he doesn’t get his dick inside Dex soon he’s going to _die_ , so he just pulls out his fingers and pushes his pants halfway down his thighs. He can’t stop himself from touching, briefly, thrusting into his own hand, until Dex kicks him sharply in the back of the thigh and says, his words coming out thin and ragged, “Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but sometime _this year_ would be nice.” 

“Goddamn, you’re impatient,” Nursey says, but he’s already reaching for a condom, tearing it open and rolling it on with unsteady fingers. It’s easy, then, to get into position, bracing himself with one hand on the bed and the other around the base of his dick as he pushes in, slow but sure, Dex’s body taut and trembling beneath him.

Once all the way in, he stops, using every last shred of his restraint to stay still while Dex adjusts, until Dex whines sharply, his eyes unfocused, and bucks up against him, somehow pulling Nursey in even deeper. Then, they fall into an easy rhythm, as with everything else they do; it’s the same as messing around, same as having each other’s backs on the ice, same as fighting. Nursey pulls Dex’s arms up over his head, crosses his wrists together and says, breathlessly, “Don’t move them,” and Dex, for once, obeys mindlessly, his fingers finding the frame of the bed and tightening around it as Nursey grips his hips and slams into him. 

It isn’t long before Nursey feels the familiar tightening, low in his belly, that signifies the beginning of the end. He unfurls his fingers from Dex’s side and wraps them instead around his dick, jerking him off mercilessly until Dex cries out and comes all over himself, hips canting up uncontrollably; then, at last, Nursey lets himself come too, spilling inside Dex with a hoarse shout. 

For a moment, there’s no sound other than their over-exerted breathing, no movement except the heavy rise and fall of their chests, until Nursey pulls out and slumps down next to Dex, tugging the condom off and half-assedly tying it before dropping it over the side of the bed. 

“That was…” Dex begins, then trails off, dazed. “Is it always like that?”

Nursey laughs, exhausted. “No.” He feels - it’s indescribable, almost, like Dex shattered him into a million pieces and then didn’t quite put them all back together right, but he doesn’t know how to verbalise the feeling, wouldn’t even know how to begin, so instead he says, “I’ve never had it like that before.” 

“Me neither,” Dex says, quiet, his words drifting off into the cool air above them.

***

And then, abruptly, Dex seems to stop wanting him. He stops coming into his bedroom at night, stops staring, dark and intent, over the kitchen table, stops sitting near Nursey if they’re in a situation where Nursey might have thought about making a move.

Nursey’s confused by it, bewildered and yeah, a little heartsick, but worse than that, he’s scared; scared of how bad he must have fucked up that Dex can’t even look at him, and the fear and the shame sit heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach. 

He lets Dex have his space, afraid of making things worse, but days pass and there’s no change, and then Nursey wakes up, clammy and shaking, from his third nightmare in a row, and thinks, _enough_. 

Dex slips out early the next day, purposefully evasive, and won’t meet Nursey’s eye during hockey practise; still, their passes connect beautifully, earning them praise from Ransom and Coach Murray both and leaving Nursey feeling sore, tender like a bruise somewhere soft and unprotected. 

He catches Dex off-guard on the way out of the locker room, hauling him back with a hand hooked around his elbow. “Hey, _hey_ , stop, we need to talk.”

“Do we?” Dex intones, bored-sounding, his eyes roving past Nursey’s face and settling, instead, on a patch of mildew on the wall, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Yes,” hisses Nursey, keeping his voice low as the last of the stragglers trail out of the locker room. “Dex, you gotta tell me, what did I do?”

“What you did?” Dex raises his eyebrows, his gaze still distant. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Well, you could have fooled me!” Nursey swallows, hearing the panicked inflection in his own words and hating it. “Did I - did I hurt you? When we…?”

“What?” says Dex, turning, at last, to look at him. “No, of course you didn’t hurt me, Jesus, Nursey.”

Nursey exhales in a rush, Dex’s words a bigger relief than he’d anticipated. “Fuck, I thought…” 

Dex shakes his head, staring down at the floor, his lips compressed into a thin line. “No. I’m fine. Can I go now?”

“ _No_ ,” Nursey says, grabbing again at Dex’s sleeve. “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t fix it,” says Dex, flatly. “So what’s the point?”

“The point…?” Nursey trails off, his tone pleading and desperate. “I thought we were friends, Dex.”

Dex smiles, finally, but it’s bitter. “We are.” He tugs his sleeve resolutely out of Nursey’s grip. “Anyway, I have to get to class, sorry. I’ll see you later.” 

He leaves, and Nursey’s powerless to do anything but stand and watch him go.

***

They don’t talk again before the game the following night, a home match-up against Boston. 

Dex is fire on the ice throughout the entire first two periods, crushing the opposition against the boards, forcing their scorers to take shots from increasingly unlikely positions, and it pays off; going into the third, the game's already 2-1 in Samwell’s favour, and the mood on the bench is buoyant. 

Then the puck drops, and Boston scores again within the minute, sneaking a wraparound past Chowder’s left shoulder and tying the game. Dex curses, loud and profane, then nods at Nursey, his expression tight and focused as he takes off back towards centre ice, shouldering a player roughly and taking possession of the puck before slamming it down towards the Boston net. He’s magnetic, and Nursey can hardly look away from him even when he should be keeping his eyes on the puck, which is why he sees the hit coming before Dex does; the opposition’s enforcer, Akerman, a 6’5” goon with a mean stare and a bad attitude, barreling down on Dex with his elbow up. He makes contact with a sickening thud Nursey can hear from the other side of the arena, and Nursey’s stomach lurches as Dex drops like a stone, his body hitting the boards so hard they rattle. 

The whistle goes immediately, and the offending player skates off to sit out his four-minute major, but Dex doesn’t get up, and Nursey’s never known fear like it, dread coiling in his veins like lead. Dex is moving, by the time Nursey reaches him, but he’s slow to his knees, putting a hand to the boards to steady himself. Holster, nearby, is yelling at the ref, Ransom pulling him back with an arm around his shoulders, and Nursey looks down into Dex’s eyes, wide and confused, and his heart thumps painfully inside in his chest, and just like that he thinks - no, he _knows_ , no doubt at all in his mind - _fuck, oh, fuck, I’m in love with him,_ quickly followed up by: _and I’ll kill anyone who hurts him_.

He squeezes Dex’s upper arm, hard, his own hand shaking, as Dex skates off, assisted by an official. He’s sure he’ll be distracted for the rest of the period, but then they’re back in play, and he’s never been so focused, battling hard for the puck with a new, single-minded intensity. 

The defenceman who hit Dex comes out of the box - much, much too soon, in Nursey’s opinion - and Nursey’s on his tail immediately, blocking him at every turn, just waiting for an opportunity to drop the gloves. 

The opportunity he gets is better.

The puck comes spinning out of the crease from a blocked shot, straight to Akerman’s stick, and Nursey’s on it, swiping it out from underneath him. He knows he’s quicker, so he spins around and barrels down the ice on a breakaway, taking the shot from just past centre ice and hoping, _hoping_ -

It goes in. The crowd goes wild.

They have the momentum after that, and no one else scores, until the horn sounds at the end of the game. Nursey’s goal was the clincher, and he grins wide and smug at every player on the defeated team, his heart still pounding jackrabbit fast beneath all the layers of padding. As soon as he can, he’s heading straight for the locker room, barging through the door and discarding his stick carelessly. 

Dex is there, still in his pads, still being evaluated for concussion, and Nursey stops in his tracks, sweat dripping down from his damp hair and into his eyes, breathing heavily. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say - so he opens his mouth, licks his lips uncertainly, and says, his voice croaky, “I got one for you.”

Dex looks up, totally unguarded for the first time in weeks, and Nursey’s just - he takes a cautious step forward, bowled over by the depth of feeling in Dex’s clear, hazel eyes. “You did, huh?” Dex asks, his lips pulling up into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah, I - we won it for you, man, stole the puck right out from under that asshole’s nose.” Nursey smiles too, then, totally helpless against the emotion coursing through his chest. “Fuck, that scared the shit out of me. How are you feeling?”

“Eh, not great,” says Dex, his expression rueful. “Probably not concussed, though, so.”

“Good,” says Nursey, “good,” and then he’s stumbling forwards, pressing his hand to Dex’s broad shoulder, seeking out the comfort of Dex’s warm, solid body so near to his own.

“Watch out,” says the medic, endlessly patient. “I haven’t finished checking him over yet.” He doesn’t ask Nursey to move away, though, so he doesn’t, crowding in closer instead.

He’s not sure, but he thinks Dex smiles, small and private, and there’s just so much, so much he wants to say, but - it’ll wait, he thinks, taking a deep, steadying breath. It’ll wait. 

***

Dex begs off, later, when Bitty asks if they’ll be coming around to the Haus, so Nursey does too, because he knows it’s concussion protocol to keep a close eye on Dex for the next 24 hours, but mostly because he can’t even imagine letting Dex out of his sight, not right now, maybe not ever. There’s a small voice in his head telling him that this might be impractical, but he quells it, uncaring. 

“So,” he says, pretty much as soon as the front door has clicked shut behind them. “Tell me if I’ve got this wrong.”

“Got what wrong?” Dex asks, bemused. 

“This,” says Nursey, braver than he feels, and steps closer, cradling Dex’s head in his hands as he presses their lips softly, gently together. 

“Um,” says Dex, brow furrowed, as they break apart. “Okay, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think I might actually be concussed.” 

“Fuck, I hope not,” Nursey says, fervently. “But either way I’m really hoping you’ll let me off the hook for being an oblivious dick, because I fucking love you.” 

Dex blinks at him a bit, not reacting for long enough that Nursey begins to get worried. “You - love me?”

“Uh huh,” Nursey replies, nervous. “Like - not in a bro way.” 

“Not in a bro way.” Dex levels a flat stare at him, his tone disbelieving.

“Like I wanna have your angry ginger babies, fuck, Dex, give me something here.” 

“I don’t think that’s how your anatomy works, man.” Dex delivers this with a straight face that almost immediately dissolves, his lips quirking up into an irrepressible smile. 

“Whatever, so, like, what are your feelings on that?” prompts Nursey, chewing his lip anxiously.

“My feelings are that you’re an idiot,” says Dex matter-of-factly, but his voice is soft and happy, and he’s reaching over and drawing Nursey in with a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and then they’re kissing again, properly this time, and Nursey smiles against Dex’s mouth, victorious and relieved.

And maybe, he thinks - maybe they’ll never really have their shit together, and maybe they’ll always fight. Still, though, if there’s one thing he knows with a bone-deep certainty, Dex pressing hungrily up against his chest like he just can't get close enough, it’s that there’s not one second where it won’t be completely, unequivocally worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from overture by patrick wolf.
> 
> my tumblr is [here](http://rapturemetro.tumblr.com/), my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/miIkshakeduck), come say hi!


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